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IDJ,
I write poetry. Not much lately, because of a lack of inspiration, maybe. Usually the words come to me in Spanish (I majored in Spanish) but I have written a few in English. I really haven't read that many poets. Pablo Neruda is one that I have read a bit of. His, "Puedo Escribir Los Versos Mas Tristes Esta Noche" is my favorit poem. It really touches me. I sould be glad to exchange some poetry with you. It would be nice to see what others think of the few words that I have written and to see what they are writing, also. cuidate, ------------------ David, el salsero de Minneapolis |
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David; Mamismurf:
Thanks for sharing. Pablo Neruda es excelente. Your favorite happens to be one of mine as well. If you can, check out Jose Marti & Virgilio Davila. Virgilio Davila appears to have been forgotten but he was undoubtedly one of hispanoamerica's greatest poets. Unfortunately, his most famous writings were gathered in a book named "Aromas del Terruno" which is almost impossible to find. If you ever come across a copy. Grab and hold on to it, it will be worth a fortune one of these days. Have you read any Nicolas Guillen? I also write poetry and have been experiencing a bit of a dry spell. Tal parece que solo me inspira el sufrimiento, y en estos ultimos anos he estado bastante feliz. Me encantaria intercambiar poemas. Mantenganse en comunicacion. [This message has been edited by IDeJesus (edited 27 September 1999).] |
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HEY, now we are talking. Unfortunately I have not heard of mr nerudo(my bad) but Jose Marti
is our apostle(I'm cuban) so here is one for all ages: CULTIVO UNA ROSA BLANCA EN JULIO COME EN ENERO PARA EL AMIGO SINCERO QUE ME DA SU MANO FRANCA Y PARA EL CRUEL QUE ME ARRANCA EL CORAZON CON QUE VIVO CARDO NI ORTIGA CULTIVO CULTIVO UNA ROSA BLANCA. RQ. P.S I HAVE A FEW OF MY OWN, I DIP AND DAB A LITTLE BIT. |
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Rolandoq:
Here's a bit of one to think about by one of PR's greatest poets ever, Juan Antonio Corretjer: El hombre que en la montana por la cruz de algun camino oye la voz del destino y se aleja de su cabana va prosiguiendo su hazana y se dirige al porvenir una esperanza a seguir mas no ha de volver la cara pues la vida es senda rara en la vida todo es ir. Contemplo a la nina hermosa riendo a lo que le place y lo que el tiempo le hace a la hoja seca del jobo es la vida como un robo de lo que el tiempo deshace. |
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